Not Easily Forgiven
by therachelleb
Summary: Sherlock reappears in John's life two years after the fall. John doesn't forgive him until a terrible accident which may cost Sherlock his life.


_[Come to Baker St_ _ASAP. New Case, need your help –SH]_

John read the text and promptly dismissed it.

"_If he thinks I'm just going to drop everything to help him he's got another thing coming"_ John thought to himself as a flicker of anger swelled up inside him. "_How can he go about like nothing happened? He expected me to be waiting for him like a dog, loyal and unwavering. Well I'm not going to be sucked in again." _John finished the last of his paperwork for the day and felt his phone buzz again.

_[Please, I'm sorry. I really could use your help – SH]_

John dismissed the text again and cycled his way home. He was enjoying his evening cup of tea when he checked his phone again.

_[John, I don't know what else to say. Aren't you supposed to apologize and then be forgiven? This case is really interesting – SH]_

_[A series of murders involving school children, you probably saw on the news –SH]_

_[Anderson is being worse than ever_ –_SH]_

_[Hey John, if you could maybe check in with Sherlock I'd appreciate it. He's acting really strange –Greg]_

_[John please, this is just getting ridiculous. I know you've missed this –SH]_

John sighed and turned his phone off. As he sat sipping his tea his thoughts drifted back to the day Sherlock came back to life. John had returned to 221B to pick up the last of his things. He was just about finished loading up the cab when he thought he had heard a violin playing. He stopped and waited, knowing that he often heard things when he was reminded of Sherlock. He almost gave up on it when he heard the unmistakable violin start playing again. John raced up the stairs and froze as he entered the living room. There against the window stood the same tall, lean, albeit a little smaller frame that John had grown very accustomed to seeing. He stared mouth wide open, stunned into silence.

"Oh, hello John. Don't you think it would be good to unpack the cab seeing as you clearly don't need to move out anymore?" Sherlock stated plainly all while continuing the tune on his violin.

John's shock began to wear off and blinding anger took its place. Before he knew what he was doing he had launched himself across the room and ripped the violin out of Sherlock's hand. As Sherlock turned John's other hand formed a fist and as the violin crashed to the floor John's hand made contact with Sherlock's cheek. John felt the skin break on his knuckles from the force and heard a sickening crunch. Sherlock stumbled back, astonishment clear on his face. His cheek was bleeding and John could see the swelling already. He glared at Sherlock balling his hands into fists again but he had lost most his adrenaline and he realized how stupid it was to assault Sherlock. John knew that Sherlock could beat him in a fight and he no longer had the advantage so he just turned around, walked out the flat and into the cab waiting in the street.

That was a month ago and John hadn't seen Sherlock since. He often receives random text messages from Sherlock trying to get him to help out on a case but John just ignored them. This was the first time Greg had ever texted John regarding Sherlockthough and that bothered him. John had seen Greg a few times during the two years after Sherlock's "death" but they had lost touch and the last time John heard from his was probably close to six months ago. John decided it wasn't worth getting himself worked up over and decided to try and sleep. He hadn't been sleeping much since Sherlock's return, often dreaming of Sherlock's body on the pavement after the fall then John beating the crap out of his corpse. He woke up most nights in a cold sweat with his hands clenched into fists. John fell asleep easily enough but was jolted awake by his phone ringing. He glanced at the clock and registered it was just after two thirty in the morning and realized it was Greg on his caller I.D.

"What Greg? This better be good" John snipped as he answered the phone.

"It's Sherlock. He's in hospital. He apparently went after the killer on his own tonight and wound up getting shot. I know you don't talk to him and everything but I just had to tell you. He's not doing good and the Docs were asking who they could notify. He's at Bart's but I gotta go there's still a lot to deal with here. I'll call later if I have news" and with that Greg hung up the phone.

John's head was reeling. Sherlock was shot. He wasn't doing well. The doctors wanted to notify next of kin and Greg called him. Without thinking John shot out of bed pulled on some jeans and a jacket and left for Bart's.

John stepped off the elevator and took a deep breath trying to steady him as he had flashbacks to the day Sherlock faked his death. As John walked down the hall he was remembering how horrible it had been to identify Sherlock's body with the police and explain the whole event. He shook his shoulders willing the memories to fade as he approached the room. When he looked in he saw a different person lying on the bed. Sherlock's cheeks were hollowed and his eyes sunk into his skull. He looked like he weighed barely a stone and the hospital gown swallowed up his starving frame. He was on a ventilator and was in a coma. John could see where the bullet ripped through his chest and another hole in his abdomen. Greg hadn't said he was shot multiple times and John cursed him for not warning him. John walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair. The doctor's had informed him that Sherlock would mostly likely not survive the night but that even in the coma he might be able to hear familiar voices. With this advice John started talking.

"I hate you. You selfish, arrogant, manipulative cock. I grieved for you for two years. I lost everything. You were the one person who brought me back from the brink and then you deserted me too. What makes it worse is that you lied. You knew what falling from that building would do to me and yet you chose to do it anyway and still not tell me. How, how could you do that to me?" John's voice was breaking and he could feel the tears starting to fall down his cheeks. He reached out and tenderly wrapped his fingers into Sherlock's and found the will to keep talking. "You were the bravest, wisest, and most genuine person I have ever known and I want you to know that. I told you once at your grave how much you meant to me and I can't even begin to restate it now but you have to live through this. You have to live for me because I need to know why. Why you left me here to rot in pain and loss because I would've followed you. Oh god how I would've followed you. Into the depths of hell just to make sure you weren't alone and that you knew you had me. I need you to know that I loved-no- I still love you and that you aren't allowed to die today. Please, Sherlock for me, one more miracle, don't die tonight."

John broke down completely letting out all the pain, loss, and grief he had been carrying all those years. He collapsed his head onto the bed crying into the mattress while holding Sherlock's hand. He sobbed until there was nothing left, just a hollow shell of a man who had lost everything again. He stayed with Sherlock all night drifting in and out of sleep not once dropping Sherlock's hand from his own. Early in the morning as the sun began to peek in from between the blinds, John felt Sherlock's fingers tighten around his.

Fin


End file.
